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Adult Content Warning - this story contains adult themes, including non-consensual bondage/slavery and forced sexual acts. If you are under the lawful age for such materials (18 in most jurisdictions) or if you would find such material offensive, please go elsewhere.
Safety Warning. This story may contain descriptions of practices that are decidedly unsafe, either in general, or if performed by someone without adequate training. There are a number of good books available on safety in the BDSM scene. Most large cities, and some not so large ones, have organized BDSM groups that will usually welcome a newcomer. I'm not going to point out which practices are safe, and which aren't. Any practice is unsafe if performed by someone with inadequate training and experience, or if performed when not paying attention. Please think before you act. Don't make yourself a candidate for a Darwin award.
Now on to the story...
The date is sometime around 2400, and Jenny Jackson is ready to graduate from high school. She discovers, contrary to every reasonable expectation, that she is not picked as a wife, nor is she going to college. Instead, she’s been routed to a job as a collared worker in Reliable’s ponygirl manufacturing process. She finds out that manufacturing only looks simple; it’s anything but.
She’s spent several months in Stage 2 of Ponygirl Manufacturing, has gotten to criterion on shift work and is learning more of the business. She’s trained three of her former classmates and has been trained as both a ponygirl and an engine.
“You gotta be kidding,” Daphne said into the phone loudly enough that Jenny overheard her.
“Jenny,” Daphne said after she disconnected. “You’ve got an appointment with one of the big shots in an hour. Get yourself cleaned up and be at the outside door in 45.”
“I thought you said...” Jenny replied.
“So I did. Don’t worry, you’re not in trouble.”
“What’s it about?”
“They forgot to tell me.”
“Oh.” Jenny headed for her servicing station.
“You’re Jenny, right? I’m Shela,” the young woman outside the door said, rather than asked. She wore a collar and Reliable’s uniform tunic. In other words, an office worker. The mid-thigh skirt length proclaimed her to be one of the faceless horde of collared workers that had a reasonably easy life if she did what she was told promptly and cheerfully the way she was trained and otherwise minded her own business and didn’t cause trouble. A business that, unfortunately, didn’t involve men, marriage or children.
“Uh, yes. What’s this about?”
“The bosses are in an uproar about something that came down this morning, and you’re in the middle of it. Other than that I haven’t a clue.”
She giggled. “It sounds like they haven’t got one either. They brought in someone from Hey Girl! to help them make sense of it.”
“Well, let’s find out, shall we?”
Sheila led the way out of the building and to a waiting ponygirl taxi. She took the reins herself, and expertly guided the girl down a number of paths until they arrived at an office building. Then they went down another maze of corridors until they arrived in a comfortable office space. She showed Jenny into a small conference room.
Jenny looked at the man at the head in slight amazement; it had to be Ray Stevens, who was the plant manager for Reliable’s plant 7.
“Startled to see me, Ms. Jackson?” Ray said. He made a gesture to Sheila. She closed the door and slid a chair out for Jenny.
“Daphne said I had a meeting with a higher-up, but I didn’t expect quite this high.”
“Daphne’s your unit manager? No reason she should have known. This is a highly unusual situation, and I try to make it a policy to learn from unusual situations. The last time this happened in this plant I was out of the direct line of responsibility, and I didn’t find anything in the files. We had to call over to Hey Girl! for help in getting things organized.” He nodded to a woman wearing the Hey Girl! uniform.
“To cut right to the central issue, you’ve been the beneficiary of a late pick, and you’re headed to college. Tomorrow. Jill, will you put her in the picture while we take notes?”
“You’ve most likely never heard of a late pick for college, right?” the Hey Girl! representative started.
“I think I’ve heard of a couple, but I thought they were unusual,” Jenny answered cautiously.
“Well, they are and they aren’t. About 1 in 10 college bound girls manages to wash out in the first few months. There are a lot of reasons ranging from dying through becoming a second wife, to discovering that she’s just not suited for college. When that happens the next most suitable person from her graduating class is selected.”
“The candidate list is never published, partially because it really isn’t a list, and partially because publishing it would cause a lot of confusion. It’s better that the people headed for senior worker positions commit to doing well there rather than dithering hoping that they’ll get a late pick. It’s even more important for the ones near the top of the list that wound up in collared worker slots.”
“There isn’t a list?”
“There really isn’t. The requirements for a teacher aren’t the same as for a nurse, and neither is really close to, for example, a research scientist, which is not really close to an engineer, although it’s closer than the other two. Your school had fifty slots divided among a number of general categories. Nobody really knows who they’re going to go to until the boys get done choosing their wives, and they don’t always know that until the last minute.
“You were very close to being selected; if there had been one more opening in any of three categories, you would have made it.
“Which brings up why you’re here at Reliable in a collared worker slot rather than somewhere else being trained for a senior worker slot. The various senior worker training schools have their own criteria, and they don’t always take everyone in the senior worker pool. Most people left after the interview process come over to us for collared worker training.
“Reliable prefers to start its manufacturing workers out right away without getting them from us, so they look at the lists as well, and had you marked because of your personality quirk. That same personality quirk meant that nobody else wanted to take a chance, so you were routed straight through.
“Which brings us back to how we handle late picks. There are a lot of them. We get a steady stream because we get what’s left of the senior worker candidates, and because of our size we’ve got the process set up and well practiced. Some of the larger senior worker training firms have enough to have their own process; many of the smaller ones have us handle it for them. Reliable has very few late picks, mostly because they don’t usually take manufacturing trainees from the senior worker candidate pool.”
“So they brought you in.”
“Exactly,” Ray said. “It’s not worth it to set up our own process. What concerned me was that nobody knew what to do when the notice came in last night.”
“I think I see,” Jenny answered. “So what happens next?”
“Well, there’s a little ritual,” Jill said, taking a tool out of her purse. “Get your hair out of the way.”
Jill walked behind her. A moment later Jenny felt the jerk as the rivet remover took the rivet out of her collar. Jill removed it and handed it to her.
Jenny turned it over in her hands. “I never expected to see it from this angle,” she shook her head.
“I did,” Sheila said, “for about an hour.”
“Hey Girl! makes sure its trainees know that it’s possible to move from collared worker to senior worker trainee, and they make sure they know both how much work it takes to prepare and how unlikely it is.” She shrugged. “If you want to get hit by lightning you stand out in the rain. I’m taking courses I find interesting, but it’s still darned unlikely.”
“True,” Jill said. “Jenny, you’re heading off to college tomorrow with three other girls from three other trainers. One of them’s ours. You’ll be taking a rental four engine roadster and turning it in when you arrive. You’ll be in charge; two of the others aren’t really take charge types and the third won’t have been briefed.”
“You, on the other hand,” Roy put in, “seem to have a good start on the air of command.”
“Late picks,” Jill continued, “are the same as graduation: it’s a total break. As far as your coworkers are concerned, you’ll simply vanish. The other three in your group will be notified tomorrow morning after breakfast and hustled off premises to the rental car agency.
“We’ll spend this afternoon shopping for kit while I fill you in on what you need to know to connect with college; you can fill the rest of them in while you’re on the road. You’ll spend tonight in a hotel.”
“I don’t get to see my family?”
“No. You can call them after you get settled in college. That’s policy.”
Audry looked at herself in the mirror. As far as she could tell, a ponygirl looked back. Whoever had done the work on the tail and leggings had done an excellent job; she couldn’t tell that they were fakes. She swished the tail; it definitely looked real. Her mouth twitched, but she didn’t grin. The jaw prosthesis kept her from making most human facial gestures, or at least making them recognizably.
The registry number tattooed on her belly looked authentic. Shelly had assured her that it had gone into all the records; only a really top level check would show her up as a fake.
She took a small tool and inserted it into her mouth, and then took the jaw prosthesis out. She followed it by removing the throat unit. Then she detached her tail and carefully rolled her leggings off of her legs.
The image that looked back at her now looked like a girl with a mane. She nodded in pleasure.
She got dressed, packed her stuff in a backpack, and left the room.
“Is everything satisfactory?” the nurse asked.
“Very,” Audry smiled at her.
“Good luck,” the nurse said as Audry waved goodbye and left.
“Little idiot,” the nurse muttered after she was sure Audry couldn’t hear her.
Jenny walked out of the hotel, her brand new luggage trailing behind her on a leash like a well trained puppy. She shook her head to clear the daze and remind herself that yesterday had really happened.
All she had to do to remind herself was look down. The collar no longer adorned her neck; after three months wearing it she almost felt naked without it. She still felt a bit awkward in her new outfit; as much as she’d lusted after the student professional look, she’d never had an opportunity to wear the total ensemble. The Reliable Ponygirl and Engine Trainer’s badge on her jacket announced that she already had a corporate affiliation.
Her heels clicked on the sidewalk as she walked to the taxi kiosk. She put her card in the slot and punched in the destination. Two minutes later a ponygirl with an empty carriage trotted up to the curb, prettily showing her high step. Jenny slung the bags into the back and slid into the seat. As soon as she pressed go, the two little levers that held the ponygirl’s reins shook and guided her out into the traffic.
Jenny sat back to watch the flow. It was incredible how different it seemed after the last three months working in the ponygirl manufacturing process. Before, it just happened. Today she admired the way her ponygirl flowed with the movement the traffic computer had choreographed.
All too soon it was over. Her taxi pulled up in front of the rental car agency. She looked around and spotted three bewildered looking girls wearing the same student professional style she wore. One had the Hey Girl! badge on her jacket, the other two had badges she didn’t recognize. Her eyes narrowed slightly. She thought she recognized the one with the Hey Girl! badge.
“You’re Beth, Fran and Tracy, right?”
“Um, yes. You’re Jenny? Don’t I recognize you?” Beth, the plumpish blonde, asked.
“I think we were in the same class. Let’s get our roadster and get moving, girls. Have any of you been trained in engine care?.”
“I was,” Fran stuck her hand up.
A few minutes later, admin done, an attendant pulled a late model touring sedan up to the curb and helped them load the luggage.
“Let’s get your engines next. Hop in.” He pulled the sedan around to an engine loading bay. Four naked women stood in a line, their collars chained to a neck high horizontal bar that would let them be taken off in order. They were all cuffed, hobbled and hooded. The identity tattoo above the fertility indicator tattoo provided entirely unnecessary confirmation. They couldn’t, Jenny thought, be anything but engines.
“You know how this goes?” he asked.
Both Jenny and Fran said yes.
“So show me,” Jenny told Fran.
“We start by opening the engine compartment.” She pulled the side panel up from behind the passenger compartment, revealing two pairs of empty engine mounts, each angled at about 45 degrees.
“We set the stabilizer bar so we don’t roll. These things are heavy enough that I’m not sure how we could roll, but it’s a safety precaution so we do it.” She set the bar so that the car wouldn’t tip over.
“Next we pull the first rack and do a visual inspection that all the attachments look intact.” It came sliding out smoothly. “We tilt it vertical. It’s best to install the inside engine first.” She pulled the girl from the dispenser by the chain on her collar and deftly guided her so she stood in front of the left rack.
“Now we slide the rack down so it matches her height. Since this is a manual mount we use the tattoo on her shoulder. You can do it by eye if you’ve got the experience, but you don’t get that unless mounting and unmounting them is your job. We also make sure the headrest and the handles are positioned properly as well.”
She twirled several knobs, bringing the rack down a few inches and moving the headrest slightly. “Since she can’t see, we have to guide her a bit.” She gently pressed the girl on her back, causing her to step forward hesitantly until she was firmly pressed into the device.
“Now we strap her in, making sure that the straps are tight but don’t bind. Then we put her arms on the controls.” She disconnected the arm shackles. The engine brought her arms forward and rested them on a pair of horizontal handles that were festooned with little buttons and levers. Fran snapped a short chain to each wrist cuff.
“Now we make the top connections.” She connected a dangling wire to the engine’s control collar, and then plugged a thin tube into the matching valve in the front of the engine’s hood.
“This is where we do the first system check.” She pressed a button on the control panel at the front of the engine compartment. The engine’s hands twisted the controls for about fifteen seconds, and then the green light came on.
“What’s it doing?” Tracy asked as Beth looked on, an expression of sick fascination on her face.
“The computer put a random stream of command images and sounds into her eyepieces and earplugs, and checked that she did the correct things to the handlebar controls. It also shot a bit of fuel into her stomach and checked that the brain scan matched what she was supposed to be doing.
“Now that we’ve got the top, we do the bottom.” She touched the inside of the engine’s thighs and the girl obediently spread her legs to the width of the hobble.
“We need to position the waste tube on the seat so that when we bring it up the tube matches her catheter valve and supports her properly. The seat supports enough of her weight to keep her from sliding and the straps from binding.” She touched up a control and then swung the seat into place. Then she connected another wire to the engine’s chastity shield.
“The final piece is the objective of the entire exercise. We start by adjusting the pedals so they’re positioned properly for this particular engine.” She adjusted a couple more knobs, moving the pedals both up and in, and then locked them into place. “Now we put her feet on them.” She unclipped the hobble and hung it on the back of the engine compartment. Then she gently brushed the back of the girl’s leg, and it obediently bent so she could slide it into the boot that was fixed to the pedal.
“So that’s how it works,” Jenny said.
“Yes. The second system check is next.” She touched another button and the engine’s legs started pumping, moving faster and slower. She stopped after about fifteen seconds when the green light came on.
“That checked the stimulators?” Tracy asked.
“That and it also partially emptied her bladder and bowel. We need to make sure the waste tube is properly connected or we’re going to either have some real unhappy engines or a very smelly mess in the engine compartment.”
“Great!” Jenny said as the attendant nodded. “I’ll do the next one.”
Five minutes later the second engine had been installed beside the first.
“That’s your first one?” the attendant asked.
“First one doing the whole thing. I’ve qualified on engine mount trainers with the automatic adjusters. I’ve only done sims with the tattoos and manual controls.”
“Still darn good. It took me about 20 tries to get that smooth.”
“Thank you,” she replied, glowing a bit at the praise.
“Now,” Fran took up the narrative again, “we tilt the rack, slide it in, and make sure that the pedals are properly connected to the generators. Then we do system check 3.” She pushed a button and the two engines writhed on the rack as Beth looked on, bugeyed.
“That’s making sure that everything is tight and isn’t going to shift. It also injected some more fuel and dumped some more wastes.
“All the racks are exactly the same,” Fran said, gesturing at Jenny to pull the rack out and get it positioned.
“Wouldn’t automatically adjusting racks be better?” Tracy asked as they finished.
“They’re twice as expensive,” Fran answered. “They don’t put them on rental cars because the agencies have got good looking guys to do it.”
The attendant chuckled as he checked the setup.
“They save some time,” Jenny added, “But they don’t let a complete novice do it. You’ve still got to strap her in, put in the seat, make the connections and put her feet on the pedals.”
“Looking good, ladies. Turn them on.”
Jenny studied the panel for a moment and then turned the on switch. The check engines light came on. The engines writhed for a moment, testing each part of their bonds. The check engines light went off as they settled down, pumping the pedals slowly.
“Good. Close her up and you can get on the road.”
Audry walked up to a taxi kiosk and punched in her destination. The kiosk read her faked identity off of her collar and routed a ponygirl taxi to her. A minute later she was on her way.
The taxi stable was an enormous building that took up a good part of a city block. She looked at it as they approached, and grinned. It wasn’t a nice grin. Home, sweet home, she thought. Invisible right under their fucking noses.
She wandered into a busy fast food concession on one corner of the building and picked up a small snack. Then she went back to the facilities and walked through a door marked Authorized Personnel Only.
The office and lockers on the other side were just like she’d been told. Locker 6 opened to her touch. She changed quickly, shedding her collared worker outfit and putting on her ponygirl disguise. She looked in the mirror, swished her tail, and walked out the other end through another Authorized Personnel Only door.
She caught her breath at the sight. Ponygirls everywhere! Well, she straightened her shoulders, it was showtime, and she’d better mingle like she knew what she was doing.
This one’s a little bit shorter than usual. Jenny has managed to get her engines installed on their racks so they can continue on the journey. And something’s going on with Audry. The next exciting episode of Ponygirl Minder will delve into the background a bit.
If you enjoyed this story, please e-mail the author and let him know. He likes to hear from his loyal fans, and it gives him some motivation to keep writing this stuff. Of course, if you're a publisher and you'd like to buy some of these stories, please let him know. The starving author in the garret makes a great story, but it sucks in real life.